


Heartbeats

by vakarian_shepard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Drabble Collection, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I forget that tag every time anymore wtf, Kissing, Making Out, Pre-Relationship, Romance, sort of, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9414440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakarian_shepard/pseuds/vakarian_shepard
Summary: A series of drabbles following the evolution of Cousland and Zevran’s relationship. Meant to be short and sweet originally, but alas…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> edit: i misspelled the title.......

Their eyes meet across the way, for the first time, and he hesitates just a breath too long before signaling the ambush. When their swords clash and she’s all snarling rage and awesome fury, beautiful, raw, and powerful, he almost doesn’t feel the way her blade sinks into his abdomen. When he wakes, to find himself surrounded by the small party of Wardens and a battlefield of dead bodies, he doesn’t know what to expect.

The male Warden is angry, not that he could blame him, and the elf is skittish. She is the only one in charge, it appears, even as she brushes aside his flirting effortlessly. (He can’t tell if she’s just not interested or if there’s something else wrong, but that might just be the blood loss talking.)

“…Okay.”

He eyes the hand she’s extended him warily. This…is not what he’d expected. The pleading for his life had been nothing but words, and he’d given up the information on the Crows only because they didn’t deserve his loyalty—he hadn’t expected her to actually…“Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, and a small, dry smile crosses her lips. “You’re coming with us. Up you get, Bird Man. We’ll get that patched up and be on our way in a bit.”

Though their skin never touches, he swears his hand burns when he lets her pull him up onto his feet.

 

* * *

 

He isn’t actually actively trying to flirt with her—she doesn’t seem to like it, first of all, and secondly he’s just…not in the mood for that. Even for a night, everything is still too fresh.

It _is_ fun, though, the way her eyelid twitches every time she catches sight of him slathering his thighs and back with warmth balm. He realizes, of course, the simpler solution to combat the cold would be to wear more clothes, more armor, but… _well_ …

“For the love of all that is good and holy in this world,” she begins one day, through her teeth, “will you _please_ put on some pants?”

He grins, propping his foot up on a rock and rubbing more balm into his thigh. “Come again, my dear? I am afraid I did not catch that?”

There is a full ten seconds where she just stares at him, eyes flicking between his hands on his leg and his face, before she shrieks through gritted teeth, snatching the little container and launching it as hard as she can into the lake. Without missing a beat, she spins on her heel and reaches into her closest pack, lobbing a piece of clothing at his head. 

“ _You_ are an _assassin_!!” she’s shouting, as he laughs, trying to untangle his head from the pants she’d thrown at him. “You should know _better_ than to leave your thighs uncovered!!!! A blade catches you in the right place and you’re dead in ten seconds!!”

She’s red and flushed and huffing and puffing when he smiles at her, tilting his head just so and considering how very alive she makes him feel.

“Are you certain that _that_ is the reason you find yourself distracted by my bare thighs, my dear Warden?” he asks slyly.

Her furious blush has him laughing, loud and real for the first time in a long time, and he wonders just what sort of magic she’s worked over him.

 

* * *

 

They’ve known each other barely two weeks, when they leave the Circle, but he can feel the way her gaze lingers. He remembers his dream—of course he does, but he shrugs her off when she tries to ask him about it, stuttering and red-faced, unsure of how to broach the subject.

_Hey, I know we’re not really friends, but I’ve just seen you getting tortured? And I want to know if you’re okay or something?_

Nah.

She doesn’t push, but she sits just that much closer to him while they’re on watch, blaming the cold when he shoots her a look. 

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t lean into her side a little as well.

 

* * *

 

_Well_ , he thinks as the dragon descends upon them, he’s lived a decent life, sort of. He’s been ready to meet the Maker, one way or another, for a while now anyway. This is fine.

But his heart stops when the beast turns its gaze on her. She’s distracted it for them, for the mage Warden, but now it has its sights set on her, and there’s no way she’ll come out of this alive. He wants to help, wants to save her, but his knees lock and its all he can do to stare in numb, disjointed horror as she battles the high dragon all on her own.

When she fells the great dragon, the entire mountain shakes. She stands shakily, pulling herself up by her sword still lodged in its skull, still astride its neck as she takes a few deep, deep breaths. Propping one foot on its neck, she pulls her sword free, sweaty and panting, but very much alive.

The way his heart stops when their eyes meet this time is almost familiar, as she wipes blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, and it terrifies him.

_Oh, no_ , he thinks, as she laughs breathlessly at something Surana says. 

His stomach flips when she turns her laughing face his way, the flush of battle still tinting her cheeks, eyes still bright with the adrenaline of the fight. Her smile softens just so as she looks at him, the look so quick that he’s not sure he even sees it before she’s turning to look at someone else.

His ears are hot and his throat is dry and…

_Oh, no._

 

* * *

 

When she asks him to train her, he turns her down at first. The idea of being alone with her is a little too exciting, and he can’t afford to enjoy her company when the Crows are most certainly on his trail.

But…

The next time she asks, he smiles and promises to make it fun, because honestly he wasn’t sure the Crows _could_ get through to him if they were going through her. And after the promise she made him when he first joined their party of misfits, to stand by his side should the Crows come knocking, he almost felt safe. 

Their training time also confirms one thing he’d already suspected.

He’s attracted to her. He’s _so_ attracted to her, Maker have mercy. She’s beautiful and strong and witty and _Maker_ he wants her. He wants her on him, under him, on top of him. He wants her to devour him whole, in nearly every possible sense of the phrase.

But mostly, he thinks as he has her pinned to a tree, eyes lingering contemplatively on her full, pink lips. Mostly he wants to kiss her until they’re both shaking and breathless.

And that’s becoming less scary by the second.

(Plus, the fact that he’s discovered that she’s very ticklish is certainly something that will come in handy in the future.)

 

* * *

 

Zevran finally kisses her in the Brecilian Forest, outside the Dalish camp, wrapped up under a blanket under a tree on the riverbank. He doesn’t expect the way she leans into him, but he gets a little drunk on it, deepening the kiss without a second thought, delighting in the little whimper she gives him in return. 

He hadn’t planned it, but when she said something about how ugly she thought she was, well…he couldn’t really think of any better way to make her feel better than to kiss her.

Her kisses are clumsy and inexperienced, but he loves it all the same—loves the feeling of her lips pressing into his, her breath on his skin, her hand in his under the blanket they share. He loses himself in it, in the softness of it, the lingering sense of closeness every time he goes to pull away, only to find himself leaning back in, kissing her deeper and deeper every time, scrunching his eyebrows against the heat in his gut and his cheeks.

And when they fall back to sleep together, nestled under a blanket beneath that tree, he finds himself feeling almost too at home.

 

* * *

 

Their training sessions stop being, well, _training_ sessions so much, after that. Sometimes he just can’t help himself, when he’s close to her, pulling her in and kissing her breathless. She doesn’t complain, often smiling into his mouth before pressing in closer with a contented hum. He does his best to avoid leaving marks on her, because he doesn’t want to stop, and he thinks maybe that would be taking it too far and she’d put a stop to it well before—

Well. They probably shouldn’t be doing this, anyway, but he’s not going to complain if she isn’t.

There is something almost satisfying the first time one of their companions puts two and two together though—props to the good sister for being able to see past her nose—and he has to fight off the urge to grin when she threatens him about breaking Kira’s heart. 

“As if I would ever do such a thing,” is what he says as he laughs her off, but it does make him pause the next time he’s leaning in to steal a kiss.

Is he leading her on? Or—?

Her back hits a tree and she moans into his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders as her teeth sink into his lower lip, and all thought ceases. Whatever this is, and however it ends, he’ll deal with that when the time comes. For now, as his fingers press into the sensitive spot on her lower back to pull her closer, making her shudder and rise up on her toes to kiss him harder, he’ll just settle for kissing her. 

And kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.

It means nothing, anyway, he reasons, because he _is_ nothing. 

No need to worry.

(He won’t know for some years yet that she is thinking the exact same thing, even as he has his tongue halfway down her throat and his hand up the back of her shirt.)

 

* * *

 

They travel back to Ostagar once, to recover what they can and just for closure, apparently. It’s no longer overrun with darkspawn, because the horde has since moved on—moved farther north to terrorize the rest of the country. They spend a good several hours picking through chests and carnage, looking for things to sell and things to use. Kira’s face is pale as a sheet, the more faceless bodies they find, and he almost asks her if she’s alright when Surana puts a hand on his arm and stops him.

“She’s—looking for her brother,” she says softly. “He escaped the attack on her family by a few hours, and we were going to find him when we got here but…he was off scouting in the wilds. We never saw him and she’s—she obviously doesn’t want to find him like this, but having a body to burn is better than never finding anything.”

_Oh._

They find the king’s chest locked and apparently untouched shortly after that, and Zevran finds himself distracted by the contents. “ _That_ ,” he says, peering over Kira’s shoulder, “is a sexy sword, and I must have it.”

She laughs quietly at that, pulling the sword of the the chest and stepping back to swing it experimentally, testing the weight in her hand. “Unfortunate,” she sighs, trading out the sword on her back for the king’s. “Finder's keepers.”

“Ah, so that is how it is going to be,” he chuckles, even as she hands him her other sword. She just shoots him a grin over her shoulder as she wanders off towards the battlefield to continue their scavenging and—

They find the king strung up in the center of the bridge, wearing nothing but his smalls. Though his body slumps at an odd angle—Zevran thinks his spine might have been snapped—his body is remarkably in tact, though it’s been months since the battle. Kira’s voice is hollow when she guesses that it’s probably the cold, and Surana’s tone echoes that when she says it also might be magic.

Whatever the case, they give him a funeral pyre before they leave, and Zevran can’t quite help his frown. The man got hundreds of good people killed because of his own stupidity, and they give him a hero’s send-off? King or no, Zevran doesn’t quite feel he deserves that. 

He and Kira fight about it, on their way back north. She drags him away from camp one night and argues, and he snaps right back until suddenly he sees it again—sees the pain in her eyes that he’s caught only glimpses of since he joined them, and any fight he’d had left melts away.

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

She breaks.

Horror rises in his chest as her face crumbles, dragging in a ragged breath as she stumbles back to lean on a tree. She tells him everything—tells him how she’s lost everyone and how she’d hoped giving one person a proper goodbye would help, but it _hadn’t_. All it had done was reopen her wounds, and she’s curled in a ball on the ground as she cries about how she’s not allowed to feel this way—how it’s her job to be the rock, the leader, so that everyone else can grieve as much as they need to.

She asks him to kill her, hiccuping, as he sits next to her and holds her close. His arms tighten, and he tells her no, no he won’t kill her, not even if she offers him money. He tells himself it’s because she’s much too important and she’s needed to stop the Blight, but…

There’s a part of him that knows, deep down, that he won’t kill her because he couldn’t, even if his life depended on it. She’s his friend, if nothing else, and he just—can’t.

 

* * *

 

She turns him down, the first time he offers to join her in her tent. She looks wistful for the massage, but when he implies that it might go further, she clams right up, going beet red and mumbling something about how they aren’t alone. He doesn’t push, because he’s pretty sure she’s a virgin anyway, so of course she would want more privacy than a piece of cloth.

They stay in Denerim for a week, this time through. It’s the week of Satinalia, he realizes when he sees the street decorations in preparation for the celebration later in the week, but they’re not in town for that. They’re planning to rest, stock up on supplies, and then head to Orzammar, stopping up north along the way on some kind of Warden-related quest. 

It’s inevitable that they end up in his bed one night, and he can’t remember the last time he’d looked forward to getting someone into bed as much as this. It’s heady, the rush he feels when she tumbles back into his sheets, laughing as he stretches himself over her, kissing her breathless. His skin is on fire, her hands leaving trails of flames in their wake as he rips his shirt over his head, desperate to feel her skin against his.

Everything is fine—better than fine, as good as he’s feeling—until he reaches for the hem of _her_ shirt.

She goes still beneath him, and when he pulls back to look at her, she’s grimacing, like she’s bracing herself to be hit or something.

That’s…not how this is supposed to go.

“…Kira?” he asks softly, moving his hands away from her waist and watching her relax again. “Is everything alright?”

Zevran sits up as she covers her face with her hands, moving away to give her some more space. When she doesn’t answer him after another moment, he presses, “Is it me? Are you nervous? Should we try another night?”

His stomach drops when she sniffles and laughs bitterly. Taking a hiccuping breath, she mumbles into her hands, “ _No_ , it’s—it’s me. I just—the idea of having sex has never been—I’ve never wanted to have sex and I’m just a little…” She shakes her head again. “I’ll stop crying, so let’s just get on with it, yeah?”

“ _Get on with it_?” he repeats. “If you don’t want to have sex, then we won’t have sex. It’s not a big deal.” 

He’s a little surprised with how much he means it, how he’s not really all that disappointed, even as she coughs out a sob and curls in on herself. Moving to lie down beside her, he sighs and adds, “I only have one rule when it comes to sex, remember? That it’s done well? It can’t be done well if one party is unwilling, Kira. That’s not even sex—that’s assault.”

“…But I like kissing you,” comes her muffled reply.

He laughs a little. “So kiss me, my dear, and stop worrying.”

She finally peeks through her fingers at him then, frowning. “You like sex, though.”

“Yes.”

“But you’d be okay with just kissing?”

“Kira, sex is fun, but it’s just sex. What we’ve been doing is fun, too—I don’t mind continuing as we have been,” he says easily. “I would never want to make you uncomfortable.”

He watches her face crumble again after a beat, and she hides behind her hands again. “I’m sorry I’m broken,” she whimpers.

He clicks his tongue at her, shuffling closer to wrap his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her hands where they cover her forehead. “You are not _broken_. There is no one way to be, my dear Warden—no one way to exist.”

“No,” she agrees, still muffled. “But there is a right way to exist and a wrong way to exist.”

He snorts. “And you are not existing incorrectly, either. You are Kira and you are existing as Kira. And that is _fine_.” Chuckling softly, he asks, “Shall I tell you a story, my dear?”

“…Is it about sex?”

“No,” he laughs. “I was thinking to tell you the tale of the Witch of the Wilds.”

_That_ gets her to move her hands, curiosity glimmering in those pretty brown eyes. He can see the hint of a smile as she says, “You mean Flemeth? Morrigan’s mother?”

“No, there is another—or, well, perhaps not. I wouldn’t know. It is an Antivan tale, though, and she is also often referred to as the Beast of the Tellari Swamps.” Smiling a little, he brushes a piece of hair behind Kira’s ear. “Are you interested? Or would you rather say goodnight now?”

She’s shaking her head before he’s even finished his question, hands finally moving completely away from her face to clutch at the blanket. “No, I—tell me the story.”

He kisses her softly, smiling into her lips, before murmuring, “As you wish,” and beginning his tale.

They talk long into the night, Kira much more curious about Antivan folklore than he’d expected her to be, and she ends up staying the night in his room anyway, both of them too exhausted by the time his stories come to an end to move so much as an inch.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until later that week, when they make a stop by The Pearl to run out some mercenaries, that he realizes that this is the longest he’s gone without sex in quite literally years. The bag of allowance money Kira had passed out at the inn feels heavy on his belt, and he seriously considers spending a little of his money here, until he catches Kira’s gaze on accident, and suddenly that isn’t what he wants to do anymore. (Even Isabela’s not-so-subtle invitation falls on deaf ears—all he can think about is _Kira_ and—and…)

It rains on them all the way back to the inn, and while most of their party splits off to either go find something to eat or shop (despite the chilly weather), she lets him pull her into her bedroom this time, laughing into his mouth as he kisses her firmly, the rain soaking their skin making the kiss just that much better. She smiles into his lips, humming softly and sighing, “Should’ve kissed you while we were outside, too.”

He tilts his head as she pulls away to crawl under the blankets, smiling as she pats the mattress beside her. “And why is that?”

“I dunno, isn’t it better somehow?” she asks, eyes bright as he lies beside her, rolling on top of her with a sigh. “Those books Oriana gave me for my coming of age celebration all seemed to agree that kissing in the rain is the best thing ever—or something.”

He hums, kissing her slow and soft. “I would not know.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone in the rain?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

She grins into his lips as he kisses her again. “Remind me next time, and we’ll try it out.”

He catches her lower lip between his teeth and grins, careful of his sharp canines as he breathes, “ _Si, querida_ ,” into her mouth. Kira laughs, shivering pleasantly under him as she cups his face in her hands.

As their kisses deepen and her fingers slide into his hair, it strikes him how very odd this all is. How very unlike him it is, that instead of staying at the brothel he’d chosen to follow the Warden back to the inn, somehow preferring her kisses to a quick tryst. It’s probably dangerous, he thinks, the level of enjoyment he gets out of every touch, every sigh, every kiss—every muffled laugh when his fingers accidentally on purpose dip too low on her hips, brushing over the ticklish spot that he remembers discovering in their very first training session.

“ _Stop_ ,” she gasps when he does it again, laughing softly. “You’re doing that on purpose!”

He puts on his best fake innocent look, which she can see right through, judging by the way one of her dark eyebrows arches. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Of course you don’t.”

He opens his mouth to respond, only to dissolve into very un-manly giggles when her fingers brush against the ticklish spot behind his right ear. He ducks his head, burying his face in her chest just to bug her, feeling the vibrations behind her ribs as she laughs with him. He waits for her to push him away, or maybe to pull him back up so she can kiss him again, but she does neither.

Instead, as the rain picks up outside, she takes a deep breath and begins to card her fingers ever so gently through his hair, working out any tangles she finds as easily as she can. When he turns his head to the side to breathe, one of her hands trails lower and starts drawing figures against his back.

Part of him wants to ask her what she’s doing, because cuddling so blatantly hasn’t quite been a part of their repertoire so far, but a much larger, louder part of him just—doesn’t care. The longer this goes on, the more relaxed he feels, until he’s all but melted against her, the steady beating of her heart under his ear, mixed with her gentle caress and the sound of the rain on the glass lulling him to sleep before he can even think to fight it.

For the first time in his life, Zevran sleeps so soundly that not even his nightmares can touch him, as he feels so completely and utterly safe lying in her arms that there isn’t a single part of him that feels the need to stay alert.

 

* * *

 

They dance at the Satinalia celebration, after Kira decides to allow them all a few more days rest before heading out. He laughs more that night than he has in ages—they both do, even when they retire to her room, giggling as they slow dance in the dark. He even stays with her through the night again, just a little too enchanted to be bothered (though, perhaps that was the wine talking).

Her dog doesn’t seem appreciative of Kira’s focus on Zevran, though, if the way Zevran wakes up the next morning to find his good shirt has suddenly become drenched in dog slobber means anything. Boomer doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, even as Zevran stands with his shirt held in front of him, eyebrow quirked in annoyance as he casts an accusatory look at the mongrel. He’s not sure what he’s going to do about this, as all his clothes are back in _his_ bedroom, and he’s not sure Kira wants everyone to think they’re sleeping together—and that’s certainly to be the conclusion everyone reaches should they catch him walking back to his room at the crack of dawn, wearing nothing but a pair of pants.

He is distracted from his dilemma by the sound of her voice behind him.

“Hmm…Zev? What time is it?”

He tosses her a smile over his shoulder, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach when he catches sight of her, sleepy and beautiful in the pale light of early morning. “Early,” he sighs. “Your beast decided to make a snack of my shirt some time in the night,” he adds, shooting the dog a look when he whines like he’s objecting to his being told on.

“Oh, _really_? Maker, I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Zevran laughs, shaking his head as he lets the ruined shirt flutter back to the ground. Sometimes he forgets that she’s nobility, until something like this happens and her immediate first reaction is to just offer to replace whatever has been ruined. She’s so used to having money that it doesn’t even occur to her that it should be an issue.

It’s endearing, to say the least. 

“I would not want you to waste your coin on _that_ ,” he says, crawling back under the warm covers with a sigh. “Though, everyone is bound to get the wrong idea when I leave later.”

She looks confused. “The wrong idea?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think the sight of a half-naked, obscenely handsome elf walking out of your room will make people think we had sex?”

Kira laughs. “No one thinks we’re having sex, Zev.”

“Not _yet_ , perhaps,” he allows, but she shakes her head. 

“Look at me, Zev. _No one_ thinks we’re having sex.”

“Hm. I suppose that bruise on your neck is from some kind of accident, then?”

He smirks when her entire face flushes and she claps a hand over the offending mark, eyes wide. “I—I—,” she stammers, before her eyes zero in on _his_ neck, and her cheeks darken just a little more. “Oops.”

His smirk deepens, because he remembers her mouth on his throat, and he knows from experience it’s probably a fairly decent sized mark. Not as big as the one he’d left on her, probably, but noticeable. He wonders if she’s upset, briefly, but then she grins, snorting as she buries her face in the pillow.

“I feel like a teenager,” she mumbles. “Which is weird, because I’ve never—I didn’t do stuff like this when I was a teenager.”

“First time for everything,” he sighs easily, smiling when she meets his gaze again.

His heart skips a beat when her eyes soften and suddenly she’s just _looking_ at him like—like she’s looking at something precious and this isn’t—he’s not used to this. She’s never looked at him like this. _He’s_ never been looked at quite like this and—and…

“Thank the Maker for that, huh?”

… _Oh, no._

 

* * *

 

He does withdraw into himself, just a bit, in the days that follow, but they are so busy that she doesn’t notice. Or, she doesn’t seem to notice, at any rate. The Blight hasn’t spread up this far north yet, so while they all have to deal with the cold winter air, they don’t have to fight any random groups of darkspawn. In fact, they don’t have to fight anyone at all, until they reach their destination, and all hell seems to break loose.

Zevran has faced a lot of creatures in his life, but walking corpses are still always a bit of a surprise. He’d never actually even seen one until their excursion into the Fereldan Circle, and they are just as ugly and not fun to fight now as they had been then—maybe even more so, since these all bore the crest of the Grey Wardens on their breast plates. 

The irony of his discomfort with killing Wardens isn’t lost on him.

The keep is crawling with more corpses, and the farther in they get, the more demons appear. All of the mages seem twitchy, the farther they go as well, jumping at shadows, tense and ready to pounce. 

Finding the Warden-Commander—or rather, her possessed body—is strange. She looks every bit a corpse, for the most part, but she also bears an eerie resemblance to Kira in a way that makes his stomach turn. Something about her dark hair and her overall build…

When they lie and head for the adjacent tower, he realizes that Kira hasn’t slept properly in a few days—and he realizes this because, once they’ve made it into the next building, not a single member of their party can stop Kira before she tosses back some random vial of unidentified liquid just _sitting_ on a table. 

“ _Kira_!” he barks, just as a few others gasp her name as well.

She coughs, gagging a little, before she shoots them all a look. “ _What_?”

“That could be poison,” Zevran growls, crossing to her to take the bottle and bring it to his nose. He moves to taste it, mind already running through the antidotes he could make with the supplies they have, but Kira snatches it back, shaking her head.

“It’s poison to _you_ ,” she murmurs, placing the bottle back on the table. “It had darkspawn blood in it.”

“…So you just _drank it_?”

She cracks a small smile at that, shrugging. “I have very poor impulse control—haven’t you noticed?”

Zevran’s ears feel suspiciously warm for the next several minutes after she winks and brushes past him to continue with their mission.

They end up letting the mage live, with the promise that his future experiments will be ethical by nature, and they kill the demon in the Warden-Commander’s body, sealing the tear in the Veil as well. Kira tells them to light a fire and start clearing the room of bodies, at least, because they would be staying the night. He doesn’t think much of it when she kneels to inspect the body of the fallen commander, doing as she asked because the quicker they get the room clear, the sooner they can have dinner.

When they finish, they return to find that Kira has changed her armor, and the sight of her quite simply takes his breath away.

She stands taller, he notices, chin held a little higher, the fire behind her eyes burning just _that_ much brighter with the crest of her order emblazoned across her chest. She exudes power, or something like it, and she looks more than a fresh recruit in that armor. Kira looks every bit a battle-tested commander, wise beyond her years, and he thinks dazedly that she could order him to impale himself on her sword and he wouldn’t question it.

“…Should we start calling you ‘Commander’ now?” Nadia asks after a beat of awed silence.

Kira laughs, relaxing, and the spell is broken. 

“Let’s wait until after the Archdemon is dead before we start assigning titles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing is a fucking monster of what was going to be a one shot but im uploading it in parts because its already like 13,000 words lmfaooo
> 
> Return to Ostagar (or, well, their argument afterwards) is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8562679)!  
> Find the High Dragon battle [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8648023)!  
> Training shenanigans are [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8562916)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> orzammar and the deep roads ended up being like 7,000 words on their own sO

Kira is afraid of being underground.

He doesn’t notice it right away, because she’s good at hiding her emotions (she’s had to be, being the leader—though the time she’d broken before him shortly after they left Ostagar is still fresh in his memory). It starts with the uncommonly tense line of her shoulders, a glare set into the corners of her lips that isn’t usually there. At first, he’s tempted to think she just doesn’t like dwarves, but he writes that off as soon as they meet the kid that looks at Surana like she’s a goddess, mouth flapping a mile a minute about magic and how she wants so badly to study it on the surface. Kira smiles, genuine and sweet, and promises to ask the First Enchanter next time they visit.

When they cross over the giant bridge in the center of the Commons, everyone else seems a little disturbed by the sheer amount of lava—except for Kira. She keeps her gaze locked ahead of her, jaw set. She speaks in shorter, harsher sentences when trying to get information than he’s used to, all her charm melted away somehow with the heat. It’s unnerving.

The inn is too small to house all of them in their own separate rooms, so they have to double up, which isn’t all that odd, until Kira openly looks him in the eye in front of everyone and asks if it’s okay for them to share a room.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, she’s ripping at her armor, shaking fingers struggling to undo the belts so much that he feels compelled to step in and help. Her breath is coming shallow now, and a little too fast, and her voice is very small when she’s finally free of the metal. 

“T-They won’t let me leave Orzammar until we’re finished, will they?”

Zevran tilts his head at her, trying to catch her gaze but finding her stubbornly staring at the wall. “Why?”

Her lower lip trembles as she shakes her head. “Can’t—it’s like I can _feel_ the mountains over our head,” she mumbles, swiping irritably at a tear that manages to escape. “I hate this. I hate being underground. I hate caves and tunnels and it’s like there’s a bronto sitting on my chest, Zev, I’m…”

She cuts off, shaking her head again as she covers her mouth with a whimper. He listens to her stifle a sob, and that’s all it takes before he has his arms around her. She reciprocates immediately, trembling hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt as she wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He’s surprised that she told him what was wrong, actually—that she requested to sleep next to him while she’s this scared is a little mind-boggling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, muffled and hiccuping. “You’re the only person I’ve broken down in front of—I just…knew I wasn’t going to be able to hide it from whoever I bunked with a-and I just—they need a strong leader, you know? But y-you’ve already seen me freak out so…”

He pulls away to press a kiss to her forehead. “I understand. Your secret is safe with me,” he murmurs, and then, because it doesn’t feel like enough, “as are you.”

She giggles and he smiles at the sound. “This is sort of strange, isn’t it? I mean, you’re the only one of our group that actively has tried to kill me and here we are…”

“Ahh, that just means my plan to make sure you do not kill me instead is working.”

Kira laughs, a little fuller now, breath coming easier as they sway on the spot, her grin pressed to his neck. Her hands slide up his back and come to rest on his shoulders as she sighs into his neck. “Don’t think I could kill you now even if my life depended on it, to be honest,” she murmurs. “I’ve always had a terrible habit of getting a little too attached to my friends.”

_Friends…_

“You say that so easily,” he breathes, a little in awe, cheeks warm from the butterflies in his stomach, “and yet it’s an odd thing for me to hear. In the Crows, we do not have _friends_ , and yet here you are and I cannot help but consider you such.”

“Good,” she answers immediately. “Everyone needs friends.”

Her arms tighten around him briefly, before she gives a quiet sigh and pulls away, smiling as she reaches up and pats him on the cheek. “Let’s go to bed, _pal_. Before my phobia catches up to me again. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, it sounds like.”

They still, somehow, despite having just declared the platonic nature of their relationship, end up kissing until they fall asleep. 

This is becoming a problem, he thinks blearily as sleep claims him, but it’s a problem for another day.

 

* * *

 

“You have _got_ to be _kidding me_.”

Zevran can see the rising terror on her face, in her body language as she stares dejectedly at the pile of rocks separating them from the rest of their party and—and their path back to Orzammar. Her breath seems to be getting shallow, and she rakes a hand roughly through her hair, rubbing at her eyes as she does so.

Alistair’s voice calls out to them from the other side of the cave-in. “Are you alive?”

Kira sucks in a sharp breath, stumbling back a step, and then another, shaking her head. She nearly jumps out of her skin when he places a hand on the small of her back, trying to keep her from panicking.

Surana answers for her. “We’re fine, Alistair. I don’t—I don’t know how we’re going to get back, though!”

“Can’t you magic the rocks out of the way?”

“Without causing an even _bigger_ cave-in?” Surana shouts back, bitter laughter echoing in the cavern. Kira’s trembling beside him now, even as his hand begins to make circles on her back. He doesn’t know how else to help, kissing the side of her head firmly in the dimly lit tunnel. “I’m not about to risk that.”

Surana seems to notice, then, the apparent panic attack that’s gripped Kira, and she frowns, taking a hesitant step towards them. “Kira…?”

Oghren, the drunk dwarf they’d picked up on their way, steps closer to the rubble. “Can ya get back to Orzammar? You bring some miners down here and they can clear it away safely.”

“…You’ll be alright?”

Surana doesn’t take her eyes from Kira as she buries her face in her hands to muffle the quiet sob that breaks through her lips. “Yes, but please hurry!”

No one answers, and Kira stumbles back another few steps until her back hits the wall, sliding down until she’s curled into a ball on the ground. Surana follows wordlessly, and Zevran kneels about a foot away, worried but not wanting to crowd her. 

“Kira?” Surana asks, softly. Her hand glows blue and she presses it to the back of Kira’s neck, making her jump a little and cough out a laugh.

“That’s _cold_ , Nadia,” she hiccups, voice thick.

“Sorry, I just—when I had panic attacks back at the Circle, Jowan figured out that cold helped it pass more quickly. Is it helping?”

She takes a shaky breath, and then another, deeper and deeper, until she can let out a long sigh. The tension seeps from her muscles and she sniffles as she says, “Yeah, it helped. Thanks.”

Zevran still doesn’t want to touch her, afraid to scare her even more if she’s claustrophobic. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, Surana’s hands on her cheeks, wiping away the tears as she smiles tremulously. “We’ll be alright,” the mage assures softly.

“Yeah,” Oghren throws in from where he’s sat on the other side of the tunnel. “This sort of thing happens a lot—and with the Blight, it’s not nearly as infested as it usually is.”

Shale seems uncomfortable as they say, “If…it is afraid of being squished, it should know that I will do my best to protect it. It is my job, after all.”

Kira snorts, giggling quietly as she peeks up at the golem. “Thanks, Shale.” They all fall quiet for a moment, before Kira sniffles again and says, “We should…we should keep moving.”

“What? Without everyone else?” Surana asks, frowning. She looks at him, almost like she’s looking for an explanation, and he shrugs. 

“There are enough of us,” Kira sighs, grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. “I don’t want to be stuck down here a minute longer than we need to be. We find Branka—or what’s left of her—before they get back, they’ll probably have it cleared away and we can just leave from there. Besides, there’s a Blight eating away at Ferelden every second we’re stuck down here. We can’t afford to be idle.”

Zevran’s not sure she’ll ever stop surprising him—the way she’s snapped right back into being ‘The Leader’ is actually one of the more impressive things he thinks he’s ever seen. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling a little until she glances at him and the corners of her lips twitch. 

“Sound good to you, then?” she asks softly.

He sighs, rising to his feet and stretching. “I think I don’t want to spend a great deal of time down here either. It’s far too dark and depressing. Completely ruins the mood.”

That makes her smile, and she laughs as she takes the hand he offers her, letting him pull her to her feet. She pauses just a beat too long when she stumbles into him, just a second of hesitation before stepping away, and if he weren’t an elf he’s sure he would have missed the way her eyes land on his lips for a moment. 

He’s hopeless, he thinks as his heart pounds an excited rhythm in his chest. They have work to do and, as she takes pointe to lead them further towards what is almost sure to be certain doom, all he can think about is when he’ll be able to kiss her again. 

Absolutely hopeless.

 

* * *

 

He and the dwarf do not quite see eye-to-eye, in more than one way, but their banter makes her laugh—both of the girls, actually, seem to be smiling through the sense of foreboding that seems to radiate from the darkness just around each corner.

It starts after they’ve been walking for a bit—the golem is rumbling along behind them, and he and the dwarf hang back to let the Wardens find their path forward. Zevran is perfectly content to walk in silence (both Wardens do have marvelously shaped bottoms and he’s not about to complain about the view), but Oghren apparently finds it uncomfortable. Or something.

“So…” he begins gruffly, and Zevran can already feel the urge to taunt rising up in the back of his throat. “Antiva. Wonderful place. Full of… _Antivans_.”

The Wardens have paused to attempt reading their maps again, so Zevran plasters his most winning smile on his face and says, “Oghren. If you want to bed me, you have only to ask.”

The girls both burst into giggles, even as Oghren snarls, reaching for his battle axe. “ _What_? Draw your weapon and say that again!”

Zevran laughs, too, shaking his head and raising his hands in surrender. “I jest, my foul-smelling friend. You are only slightly more attractive to me than a slime-filled pool of swamp water.”

Oghren grunts and mumbles, “Better be,” just as Kira turns to look at them, still laughing.

He winks at her, watches her eyes light up, as he says, “You have my oath.”

He thinks he hears Oghren murmur something about, “Bloody Antivans,” but Zevran’s just a little too caught up in the way Kira’s smiling as she turns back to Surana and the maps to care.

 

* * *

 

Something goes— _horribly_ wrong. 

They’re just walking when it happens. Zevran is asking Oghren about whatever the hell is in that flask he carries around while the Wardens are bent over the map yet again, when they both go rigid. Kira spits a curse, dropping the map and reaching for her swords as Surana plants a foot firmly in front of her and pulls a dozen or so spikes of earth up from the ground all around them. From the sickening crunches and gurgling noises, she apparently managed to catch several darkspawn off guard.

It’s not so bad at first, until the emissary shows up. The Wardens target it immediately, but the darkspawn suddenly seem far more interested in himself and Oghren than them. He ends up on his back below a Hurlock with a maul the size of his chest before he knows what happened, and he has barely enough time to flinch before it’s bringing the hammer down on his leg.

Or, it tries. 

The golem catches the Hurlock by the arm and flings it across the room, and through the rushing in his ears, Zevran hears Kira’s terrified shout of his name. When he looks over at her, he can only watch in numb horror as a Hurlock tosses her over its shoulder and turns to leave. 

_What—why—?_

He’s scrambling unsteadily to his feet when, in the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Surana tossing back a rather large bottle of lyrium potion. Silver eyes nearly glowing in the dim light of the tunnel, she yells, loud and hard, sharp canines bared as she brings more spikes up from the earth, impaling the rest of the darkspawn, including the one that had Kira on its shoulder. Kira falls from its grasp with a heavy thud, rolling from its shoulders and landing hard on her side on the rock.

She doesn’t get back up. 

She doesn’t get back up and suddenly the emissary is targeting him, though Surana has stepped between them, drawing its attention. “Can you get to her?” is all she asks. She doesn’t need to ask him twice—Zevran is already scrambling to his feet again, ducking to avoid a fireball before Surana has a barrier around him and Shale has punched the emissary square in the face.

Falling to his knees next to her, he reaches for her only to find that she’s awake, just…not moving. She blinks when she notices him, but her eyes are glazed over and when she moves to sit up, it’s stiff and slow. The battle has ended by now, and he places what he hopes is a comforting hand on her back as she sighs shakily, pressing her hands to her face and bracing her elbows on her bent knees.

“Kira!” Surana’s voice breaks the strange silence that had settled around the cave, and he moves away hesitantly to give the healer space to look Kira over. “Kira, are you hurt? What happened?”

“It tried to take me,” he hears her say flatly. “Why would it—why would it do that? Did you notice how they targeted the men, too? Why would they do that? They also didn’t seem to be trying to actually kill us—just… _maim._ ”

“I don’t… _think_ they’re smart enough to plan kidnappings like that,” Surana says slowly. “But, you’re right. None of them seemed to be trying to inflict fatal wounds. I…think perhaps we should make sure we’re more careful from now on.”

 

* * *

 

_First day they come, and catch everyone._

Kira’s hand on his arm nearly gives him a heart attack as a voice seemingly materializes out of the air, startling all of them. In the dim lighting of the Deep Roads, though he’s almost certain it’s exhaustion, he begins to notice the shadows shifting in the corners of his eyes. More than a little unnerved himself, he readjusts her hand so that it’s clasped firmly in his, fingers intertwined. She lets out a shaky breath, and a tiny bit of tension seems to leave her.

They turn a corner, and the voice returns, just as close and as far as before.

_Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat._

Surana is ahead of them now, holding up a ball of fire to help illuminate what the ancient dwarven runes cannot. With a firm voice, braver than he’s heard her yet, she calls, “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”

The only answer she receives is another line of what seems to be a very strange, ominous poem.

_Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

Kira’s hand tightens almost protectively around his, and he notices through the unease fogging his mind that their group has begun to huddle together, moving slowly and jumping a little at every shadow. Even Oghren is hanging close on his other side as they continue forward.

_Fourth day, we wait and fear our fate._

“Darkspawn,” the Wardens suddenly say together, and it’s with great reluctance that he lets Kira’s hand go. There aren’t many of them this time, thank the Maker, but they try the same sort of stunts as last time. They don’t get nearly as far as tossing one of the girls over their shoulder and making a run for it, but they still seem to be trying to injure and take. 

Kira returns to his side almost as soon as the last darkspawn is dead, sliding her hand right back into his as they bunch up again to keep pressing forward.

_Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn._

The cold trickle of fear that creeps up his spine at the sing-song way the voice says that line makes him shudder visibly, and Kira’s hand tightens around his. 

The only sound in the tunnel aside from the crackle of flame from Surana’s magic is the steady rumbling of the golem walking along behind them—the only member of their group seemingly unfazed by the strange, disembodied voice.

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams._

The walls are becoming increasingly wet, the farther they walk, until he realizes with a pang that they’re covered in what looks like…meat. It reminds him of the Circle, but there couldn’t be abominations down here, could there? Dwarves didn’t have magic. 

Though, he thinks as the meat sacks continue to get larger and more frequent, he’d rather face down an abomination than whatever the hell was waiting for them somewhere ahead.

_Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

They run into more darkspawn, but they handle these much more easily, disarming traps as they go. The voice is getting closer, it seems, little by little. As they continue forward, Kira meets his gaze, face pale under the spattering of darkspawn blood, mouth set in a worried frown.

_Eighth day, we hated as she is violated._

The tension in the group is palpable as everyone tenses at that line. He wonders if anyone else has just been dragged into an unpleasant memory, or if it’s just him. The way Surana seems to pause before continuing forward answers his question. Even Kira’s stride falters next to him.

The meat is now covering everything, and the smell is enough to make him dizzy, already weak from exhaustion. How long have they been walking?

_Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

The voice is coming from a well lit room just in front of them now, and they all slow to a stop, hesitant to move forward. They exchange apprehensive glances as the voice intones the final line of the poem.

_Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast._

There is a dwarf in the middle of the next room, standing amongst piles and piles of pulsating meat sacks. She’s hunched, wringing her hands and shaking her head, muttering to herself. 

**“ _Broodmother._ ”**

She turns to look at them when Surana clears her throat softly, and Zevran’s stomach drops at the sight of her face. It’s splotched black and grey, her eyes sunken and discolored, just like that other poor soul they’d run into earlier in their expedition. Her eyes scan blankly over their faces, but linger on Kira and her heavy, Warden-Commander armor. She tilts her head, considering them, and says, “A human? Bland and unlikely. Feeding time only brings kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of strangers’ faces and open doors.”

Kira glances warily at Zevran, almost like she’s asking him what to say, but he shrugs. Coughing a little, she turns back to the dwarf. “Who—Who are you? Are you part of the Legion?”

The ghoul just shakes her head, sinking back into herself to mutter her poem all over again. “ _First day they come, and catch everyone._ ”

“Is this darkspawn corruption? It looks…different,” Surana murmurs softly. 

Kira shrugs and asks, “What’s that chant you keep repeating?”

That brings the ghoul back. “It’s what I’ve seen. What I will become. I force it into verse so it is fantasy, _unreal_.” She shakes her head again. “That’s the only place I can hide, because they make me…they make me _eat_. And then…” She looks away, towards a different fleshy sack on the ground. “All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared.” The dwarf frowns as she continues. “But I had to watch. I had to see the change. _How_ do you endure that? How did Branka endure?”

“Are you from Branka’s house, then?” Kira asks curiously.

“D-do _not_ talk of Branka, of what she did,” the ghoul snaps, making everyone flinch a little. “Ancestors preserve us, forgive me. I was her captain and I didn’t stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her…but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become.”

“What did she do, Hespith?” Oghren interrupts. He sounds angry. “What did Branka _do_?”

Hespith shakes her head fiercely. “I will not _speak_ of her! Of what she did, of what _we_ have _become_! I will not turn! I will _not_ become what I have seen. Not Laryn! Not Branka!”

And with that, she turns and flees the room.

“Well!” Zevran says brightly after a beat of stunned silence. “It seems we are in for quite the bad time.”

Kira huffs out a dry laugh at his side, grinning bitterly. “You can say that again.”

 

* * *

 

The broodmother is, without a doubt, the most terrifyingly disgusting thing Zevran has ever had the displeasure of laying his eyes on—and that’s really saying something.

Surana gets caught up in the tentacles that spring forth out of the ground, shooting spells at them as the—eight-breasted creature wails, slimy and grotesque enough to make him certain that he’ll never look at breasts the same way again. Kira can’t get near it, he realizes after he’s stabbed his fourth tentacle to death. She’s hovering about the back of the room, slicing at the tentacles that come near her, but she’s pale and every time she looks at the monster she looks like she’s about to cry.

Oghren is the one who finally fells the beast, scaling it somehow to jam his axe into its skull. 

Kira’s stumbling away before Oghren has even gotten down, back into the previous passage. Zevran and Surana both follow after her, concerned, especially when they hear the retching noises. And the _sobbing_.

Surana reaches her first, where she’s collapsed on her hands and knees, trembling as she empties her stomach of what must only be stomach acid at this point. Through her sobbing, Kira asks, “I-Is that why there aren’t many female Wardens? Is _that_ what’s going to happen to us?”

“No, Kira. That was just—.”

“I—I ca—can’t,” she sobs. “I can’t be that. I can’t follow my Calling only to turn into _that_ and give birth to darkspawn for the rest of eternity.”

“That won’t happen to you,” Surana says softly, brushing Kira’s hair back from her clammy forehead. “I won’t let it.”

Kira takes a deep, shaky breath, sitting back on her haunches and linking her hands behind her neck, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as a few more tears slip down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she rasps. “Let’s—let’s get out of here.”

“We seem to be getting close to Branka,” Zevran offers quietly, the sound of his voice bringing her eyes to his face. “We should be able to head back soon. That is something to look forward to, yes?”

She smiles, just a little, and nods, reaching for him. As he pulls her up, he leans in to kiss her cheek, but her hands suddenly firm on his chest stop him. When he frowns at her, she shakes her head and says, “You haven’t swallowed any darkspawn blood yet. My face is covered in Maker knows what and I’m not about to risk giving you the Blight.”

“I won’t swallow,” he jokes, and it works a little, because she grins and rolls her eyes.

“You’ll just have to be patient.”

 

* * *

 

“Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognized you!”

Zevran almost laughs at that, and if he weren’t so tired of dwarves and these Maker-forsaken caves, he might have. As it were, his eyes are still warily drawn to the wall of rock that rose behind them as soon as they approached the dwarf, mind already racing as he wonders just how they’re going to get out of this one. 

And, as happy as Oghren seems to be to see his wife, Branka does not seem nearly so joyous. In fact, she seems almost exasperated by his very existence. 

“Oghren. It figures you’d eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily.”

Surana snorts. “You’re planning on letting him leave, then? Would it not be easier to feed him to your pet darkspawn?”

Kira coughs, elbowing her fellow Warden roughly in the ribs and shooting her a look. Surana just shrugs as Branka laughs.

“And how shall I address you? Hired swords of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only ones who didn’t mind Oghren’s ale-breath?” she asks dully.

Oghren glares. “Be respectful, woman! You’re talking to a pair of Grey Wardens!”

“Ah,” Branka nods. “Important errand boys, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side.”

“Yes,” Kira answers this time. “He’s dead, and the Assembly is deadlocked.”

“Oh? Then what is your involvement in this? Why would a surfacer be interested in dwarven politics?”

“We need Orzammar’s help in combatting a Blight, and they have refused us aid until a king has been chosen,” Kira replies. “And neither of the candidates can gather enough support, so they want the word of a Paragon. Or something. I don’t really know—it all seems very convoluted to me.”

“Yes, I agree,” Zevran adds. “And I am from Antiva, where the majority of our elections are decided by way of assassination.”

Surana laughs. “Maybe we should have suggested that to Bhelen.”

“Did he not already try that?” asks Kira flatly.

Branka shakes her head and then shrugs. “I don’t care if they put a drunken monkey on the throne.” 

Kira rubs at her face and groans. “Of course you don’t.”

“Because our protector,” Branka continues as though Kira hadn’t even spoken, “our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems—not unlike the one you have following you around. They forged their army and held off the first Archdemon ever to rise. It’s here. So close I can taste it.”

“But of course there’s a catch,” Kira sighs. “Get on with it.”

Branka glares and says, “The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. _This_ is what’s important. _This_ has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarves people benefit. Kings, politics…all that is transitory. I’ve given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void.”

“Including Hespith and the rest of your house?” Kira replies dryly, apparently without thinking because she flinches the second she’s finished with her sentence.

“Enough questions!” snaps the Paragon. “If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There is only one out, Warden. Forward. Through Caridin’s maze and out to where the Anvil awaits.”

“Of fucking course,” the girls say together just as Oghren yells, “What has this place done to you?! I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance.”

All Branka says is, “I am your Paragon,” as she turns and begins to walk away.

Judging by the looks on his companions’ faces, he’s not the only one who seems to have a very bad feeling about this.

 

* * *

 

“There are golems lining the room,” Surana says, leaning against the door frame, “and there are wheels on the walls.”

“Well, we know it’s a trap, so obviously it’s going to lock us in or something, right?” Kira asks, crossing her arms. “So we should try to—to figure out a strategy to disarm the trap as quickly as possible once we’re in there.”

“That would be easier if we knew exactly what was going to happen,” Surana groans, rubbing at her face. Turning to look at the rest of their party expectantly, she raises her eyebrows and prompts, “Thoughts?”

Usually, Zevran would leave the planning to them, but…he actually has an idea.

“Surana, magic is— _intelligent_ , yes?”

She tilts her head. “How do you mean?”

“I mean—the trap that locked us in this area of the Deep Roads with Branka. It only activated after our entire party had crossed into it. The traps can tell whether or not the full party has fallen into them?” he asks, grimacing a little at the clunkiness of his question.

She nods slowly. “I…must admit I don’t know much about dwarven technology or what sort of—magic they can work into their traps, but it’s true that you can enchant traps to know things like that. What are you thinking?”

“My thought is this: these golems do not activate until a trespasser is within hitting distance, yes? I think that the trap is designed to trap us in with the golems in the hope that they will squish us like bugs before we can disarm it. I propose that we send only one member of our party into the room to activate the golems. If my theory is correct, the door should stay open, and we can lead the golems out here and fight them that way. Either the door on the other end will unlock once all the golems are dead or,” he hesitates, feeling stupider the longer he speaks, “or we will be free to disarm the trap without being attacked by a room full of golems at the same time. I-It is stupid, I know, but—.”

“What are you talking about?” Kira interrupts. “That’s _brilliant_.”

He blinks. She— _what_ , now?

“…Truly?” he asks, skeptical.

Surana nods her agreement. “It makes perfect sense. It’s also much safer than marching straight into the trap and winging it. The only question is, who are we going to send in to test it out?”

“Me, of course,” Shale replies. “I am the least squishy thing here, and if I were to get locked in the room with the other golems, I think I would be the most likely to survive until the rest of you can free me.”

Surana and Kira are both nodding when he interrupts them again, holding his hands out in front of him. “Wait, isn’t it too easy? Or simple? Are you certain it’s a good idea?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Zevran,” Surana says, smiling. “Magical traps sometimes have very simple solutions. My mother told me a lot of ancient elven ruins have very easy to disarm traps, because those who set them expected that people would say ‘oh, that’s much too simple’ and try a different method. Magical traps quite often expect people to think too hard, actually. Besides,” she adds, “this isn’t the _simple_ solution. This is _outsmarting the mechanism entirely_. There’s a difference.”

“I—apologize. I am not used to people listening to my ideas and thinking they are worth considering,” he says, wringing his hands.

Surana and Kira both grin. “As smart as this idea is, perhaps you should share more often,” Kira says lightly, bumping her hip against his. 

His plan works, though he’s so caught up in the fact that his Warden has just called him _smart_ that he almost gets his head smashed in by one of the golems anyway.

 

* * *

 

They side with Caridin (who has somehow survived for hundreds of years as a golem) in the end, mostly because he seems the most sane, and partially because Zevran is sure both girls are still reeling from the broodmother encounter, something that Branka was directly responsible for. The fight is hard, but once they win, he swears he can almost taste freedom. 

Caridin forges them a crown on the Anvil as payment for standing up for him, and then Kira smashes the relic as Caridin tosses himself into the lava-filled chasm below. Zevran hums softly as he steps up beside her, peering over the ledge and ignoring the vertigo that threatens to overwhelm him. “Do you think he feels pain?” he asks curiously as Caridin’s metal body sinks into the molten rock.

Kira shrugs. “Does Shale?”

“I asked once,” he chuckles, “but the answers they gave were vague and not really an answer at all.”

She giggles, and the sound is heavy with relief. They aren’t out of danger yet, but all that’s left is the trip back, and hopefully that will go much more smoothly. Perhaps the darkspawn won’t have even regrouped yet. Sighing, he wraps an arm around her neck, pulling her closer to press his forehead to her temple. 

_“Zevran_ —,” she protests immediately, panic rising in her voice as she struggles to lean away before he can put his mouth on her dirty skin.

He chuckles. “I _know_ , Kira. Do not fret. I just—want to be close to you for a moment. We have had too many near-death experiences in the past few days—let me take a moment to enjoy the peace before we start back.”

She stops wriggling, and her shoulders droop. Against his skin, he can feel her face heat up, and it makes him smile. “Oh,” is all she says, but she turns into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. Her armor is heavy, and it makes their embrace just the slightest bit awkward, but she’s just short enough that his arms can fit almost comfortably around her neck, just barely managing to fit between the big, clunky shoulder pieces. She shivers as he lets out a slow breath, and he’s not quite sure how long they stand like that until she’s pulling away and leading them back out into the Deep Roads and towards Orzammar.

The cave-in has apparently only just been cleared away when they reach it, and their companions all look shocked to find them all looking as tired and dirty and banged up as they do. Kira and Surana fall into step with Alistair, already discussing what they’re going to do about the Assembly before they’ve even gotten back to the city. He wonders if they’ll take his opinion that he gave before into consideration, but doesn’t dwell on it. He doesn’t truly care either way—it’s not like it will affect him in the long run, by any means, but it would be _nice_ …

He doesn’t see much of the Wardens after they get back within city limits. Kira beats him back to the inn, somehow, and she’s already clean and wearing something much more comfortable when he pushes open the door to their room. (Well, he _had_ gotten a bit sidetracked on the way back, hungry as he was after surviving on Deep Mushrooms for what must have been at least two weeks.)

“Nadia, Alistair, and I are going to go speak to Harrowmont and Bhelen one last time,” she explains as she runs a comb hastily through her still wet hair. “We’re going to the Assembly tomorrow morning to make our decision and we should be able to be out of this literal hell hole by tomorrow evening, or the next morning at the latest.”

When he meets her gaze in the reflection of the mirror (he wrinkles his nose distastefully at how much of a mess _he_ is), she grins at him. “Feel free to enjoy the bath tub we’ve got while I’m gone. It’s—heavenly, to say the least.”

And with that, she turns to head for the door, though not before pressing a kiss to two of her fingers and then touching his lips lightly—an indirect kiss. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

His brain has turned to mush, and all he can say before she’s left is, “Right, yes. Later.”

Her laughter lingers, even as she shuts the door behind her.

_Oh, Zevran_ , he thinks to himself, sighing heavily, _what do you think you are doing?_

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until he’s jolting awake at the sound of the door opening, nearly choking on the gasp that rips through his throat as he sits bolt upright, fingers clutching at the dagger on the nightstand in panic.

“It’s just me,” comes a familiar voice and he sighs, relaxing back into the pillows and trying to calm his pulse. “Sorry, Zev,” she murmurs, chuckling quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He hums, mind clouded with sleep, unable to find the words in Common to tell her that it’s fine. He wants to get up, or sit up, or anything, but he’s so _tired—_

The next thing he’s aware of is the feeling of her slipping into bed beside him, the rustle of the blankets not quite loud enough to drown out the weary sigh she gives as she curls up by his side. Turning his head to look at her in the darkened room, his eyes meet hers, and he watches her eyes dart blindly around his face until they land on his mouth. She doesn’t move, and as the seconds tick by, he finds himself growing frustrated. How long has it been since he’s been able to kiss her? Shuffling closer on the mattress, he sees her smile a little as he presses his forehead to hers. 

Andraste help him, he can’t remember the last time he wanted to kiss someone so badly. 

This is very bad, and will only get worse with time if he lets it continue, but then Kira’s closing the gap between them, kissing him softly, and he can’t think of anything but the feeling of her mouth on his. Her fingers stroke lightly over his cheek as she deepens her kisses, deeper and deeper, until his brow has furrowed and she’s shifted so that she’s half lying on top of him.

When she breaks the kiss she doesn’t go far at all, and they hesitate for a moment, parted lips brushing against each other as they both breathe a little heavily in the dark room.

“Sorry,” she sighs, not sounding sorry at all as she kisses him one more time. “I’ve been dying to do that for weeks.” 

He grins, nipping at her lower lip. “Really?”

“Of course.” Her lips brush his with every word, and the warmth fluttering in his stomach pulls his smile just a little wider. She kisses him again, chaste and lingering, before murmuring, “And, I would just like to say I’m so glad you were one of the people that got stuck with me on the other side of that cave-in. I don’t think it would have gone as well as it did without you.”

He’s flattered, and as his fingers seek out the ticklish spot on her hips, just to hear her laugh, he shoves the voice in his mind telling him to put an end to this aside. There’s a very large chance, still, that neither of them will survive to see the end of the Blight, so what was the problem, really? 

No need to worry.

 

* * *

 

Bhelen is crowned as King and, once they’ve taken care of the remaining fanatics, he sends them on their way with a promise of full military support when the time comes. Kira nearly jogs to get out of the city, taking strides that are almost too big for her. He’s half afraid she’s going to trip as she takes the stairs nearly three at a time, ignoring the complaints of Oghren, who has decided to come with them after all.

The sky is clearer than he can remember seeing it since he’s set foot in Ferelden once they finally step out into the chilly mountain air (though, that might just be the weeks of being underground and not seeing the sun at all talking).

Oghren seems a little more than mildly disoriented by the sight of the open sky above them, and the Wardens tell him to take his time. Or, Surana and Alistair do—Kira is too distracted with the feeling of the wind on her skin to really notice, apparently.

The dogs are happy too, and they chase her gleefully out into the snow, barking as she laughs and plays with them. Zevran can’t quite keep the smile from his face as he watches the two slobbery beasts tackle her into a snow drift.

They… _may_ or may not end up having a snowball fight before leaving for Redcliffe. Sten grumbles when he gets hit in the back of the head, and Wynne has several runny noses to treat later that night, but it’s all good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The strategy Zevran comes up with to beat the trap? Actually works in game. Now you'll never get locked in the poison room again 
> 
> ☞( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞
> 
> also another fun fact idk why the fuck but scrivener autocorrects Oghren to Oghjen every damn time even though it draws a red line under it immediately


End file.
